Bringing to light things I shouldn't III

His voice sounded deep and menaceful for the first time in his life: "Shro'gn" he said, recognizing his enemy.
The answer came back.
The challenge was clear. There was no avoiding this fight. And he didn't want to. He had reached his patience's limit.
No more, he thought. Even if this means exile, for I'm already bound for it.
He clenched his fist and barely felt his own nails biting the flesh of his palms. He was too young, too small.
The orc in front of him was young and small too. But Shro'gn held a longsword in his hands. Still, the weapon was still too big for him, and had to wield it with both hands.
Shro'gn moved first, swinging with fury.
He had to duck, chest close to the floor, and soon was moving again, his calfs springing to safety, rolling all over the ground. Turning around, he stood up, facing his enemy again.
From afar, the wolfriders shushed their sparring, watching in amusement the battle between the hornless half orc and their captain's kid.
Shro'gn prepared to swing the longsword again.
He stepped back fast, the tip of the sword barely missing him.
That was it, he thought. He wasn't going to let himself die. He felt a rage that burnt through him.
He waited for the next swing, and deliberately, twisting, parried the sword with his bare back, letting it cut him open from the tip of his shoulder to the bottom of his back. As the pain numbed him, the flying kick he had tryed reached it's destination, making devastating damage between Shro'gn's legs.
Both of them backed away. Blood dripped from his wound, while Shro'gn gasped for air, his eyes revealing the pain he was enduring.
Again came the sword, and again he twisted, this time the sword struck the other shoulder, down the bottom of his back again it ran. And so, again came the kick, in the precise same spot.
Blood soaked the floor already. But it came from both of them now.
Shro'gn made the mistake of letting the point of his sword rest on the floor, holding it against his tighs, still grasping with both hands.
He saw that, jumped forward, hitting the hilt of the sword with his head, right on. His arms, ignoring the protest of pain coming from the shoulders, hugged the orc by the waist, and both fell to the floor.
He moved fast. His knee went straight to the source of pain, his arms pinning his foe down, his teeth bitting the ear. His other leg went over the screaming orc, mounting him.
From this overpowering position, his fists started pouring on Shro'gn's face. Soon, it was over. The orc's head was reduced to a pulp.
With the ear still between his teeth, he didn't stop for the wolfriders to snap back from amazement and, snatching the sword, ran for his life, into the forrest. He went straight for the swamps, knowing water and mud was the only way to loose his trail...